FS1’s Undisputed co-host Shannon Sharpe wasn’t content with calling out Green Bay Packers fans who didn’t protest during the National Anthem at last week’s game; no, he decided to go after the nation’s flag too. According to Sharpe, the flag is a racist “piece of cloth, and nobody fights for a piece of cloth.”
“You keep telling me that the flag means so much and its opportunity and freedom and liberty,” Sharpe told his co-host, Skip Bayless. “Can you honestly say that everybody in America has freedom and liberties and opportunity?”
While Bayless continued to defend the flag and what it means to most Americans, Sharpe likened it to a pair of jeans, snidely asking, “They’ll fight for a pair of jeans?” Bayless said Americans would defend a pair of jeans if that is what was chosen to represent our nation in 1776.
Sharpe wasn’t done defaming our sacred symbol. “Okay, so the symbol of your country – so the symbol of your country is racism?”
Did you happen to notice he said “your” country … not “our” country?
What is wrong with people today? Sharpe, here, is another example of someone jumping on the bandwagon without really thinking about what they’re doing. How many times in the past has he stood with his hand over his heart, praising our great nation and its flag? The flag hasn’t changed. What it stands for hasn’t changed, so why, suddenly, is Sharpe so eager to assassinate it?
Not the Flag’s Fault
Everyone, under the constitution, has equal opportunity. The problem for many is that the equal opportunity doesn’t always mean an equal result. But is this the flag’s fault? And is that what these people actually think the flag stands for? If Sharpe, and people like him, are so eager to defame symbolic relics, will Catholics start calling the cross with Jesus crucified on it racist and refuse to kneel to it? When will this idiocy end? Stop beating down symbols and go out in the world and make a positive difference!
Since our beleaguered flag is being attacked all across the nation by the very people who should be protecting and honoring it, let’s take a look at the poem written by SMSgt. Don S. Miller, USAF (Ret.):
I am the flag of the United States of America
My name is Old Glory.
I fly atop the world’s tallest buildings.
I stand watch in America’s halls of justice.
I fly majestically over great institutes of learning.
I stand guard with the greatest military power in the world.
Look up! And see me!
I stand for peace, honor, truth, and justice.
I stand for freedom.
I am confident . . . I am arrogant.
I am proud.
When I am flown with my fellow banners,
my head is a little higher,
my colors a little truer.
I bow to no one.
I am recognized all over the world.
I am worshipped.
I am saluted.
I am respected.
I am revered. I am loved.
And I am feared.
I have fought every battle of every war for more than 200 years…
Gettysburg, Shilo, Appomatox, San Juan Hill, the trenches of France,
the Argonne Forest, Anzio, Rome, the beaches of Normandy,
the deserts of Africa, the cane fields of the Philippines,
the rice paddies and jungles of Guam, Okinawa, Japan, Korea, Vietnam,
and a score of places long forgotten by all but those who were with me.
I was there!
I led my soldiers.
I followed them.
I watched over them…
They loved me.
I was on a small hill in Iwo Jima.
I was dirty, battle-worn and tired,
but my soldiers cheered me,
and I was proud.
I have been soiled, burned, torn and trampled on the streets of countries
I have helped set free.
It does not hurt . . . for I am invincible.
I have been soiled, burned, torn and trampled on the streets of my country,
and when it is by those with whom I have served in battle . . . it hurts.
But I shall overcome . . . for I am strong.
I have slipped the bonds of Earth
and stand watch over the uncharted new frontiers of space
from my vantage point on the moon.
I have been a silent witness to all of America’s finest hours.
But my finest hour comes
when I am torn into strips to be used for bandages
for my wounded comrades on the field of battle.
when I fly at half mast to honor my soldiers…
and when I lie in the trembling arms
of a grieving mother at the graveside of her fallen son.
I am proud.
My name is Old Glory.
Dear God . . . Long may I wave!